I want the Truth
by ShadoutCarver
Summary: Harry Dresden goes missing and it is up to Murphy and Bob to find him. Sequels: Harvey, I want a vacation, Vacation
1. Chapter 1

I want the Truth

Rating: Some iffy language, violence  
Book or TV verse: All TV verse  
Disclaimer: Dresden Files belongs to Jim Butcher and Scifi Channel  
Warnings: Some violence, hints of gore, Butters, Polka, and angst

---

I should have known. Any case involving Harry involves strangeness, vague explanations, and lies. Worse, this case involved a serial killer. Teenaged females between the ages of 16 and 19 had been turning up dead for the past seven weeks, one or two a week.

Butters was stumped. He stood looking at the opened body of the body of the ninth victim, he looked at me, he looked at Harry. Or rather he tried to bore holes in Harry's face with eyes alone.

"It's just like the others" he said "stab wounds in the thorax, but not in the skin. She was stabbed ... without being stabbed"

My turn to stare at Harry. He knew something. He did. He looked at me, attempting his patented "I know nothing" look which always failed. Then he started to twitch.

"I'll tell you as soon as I have something, Murph" Dresden was edging toward the door. Not for the first time I wanted to handcuff him, haul him off to the interrogation room and keep him there until he finally gave me the damn truth.

I sighed and nodded. "We have to stop this guy, Dresden, do whatever you have to do. -- I never said that."

He grinned and left. Damn the man.

I turned at glared at Butters. He held his arms up. "I didn't hear anything over my music" he said as he turned his cd player on and polka blared into the room. I escaped before my ears started to bleed.

That was over a week ago. Dresden hadn't been seen or heard from since.

Oh Gd. Where are you, Harry?

I decided to break into his apartment/office to look for any clues to what happened to him. I may not be able to do Dresden's 'tricks' but I can conjure up some burglar's tools when I need them.

I let myself into his office storefront, closing the door behind me and lowering the blinds. No flaming words in the air. Damn. I made a tour of his apartment looking for any signs of a struggle, or murder, blood, or a body. I found nothing.

Going back into the storefront I did see words in the air; and a man writing them with his finger. What the hell? I pulled my weapon and pointed it at the man.

"Freeze"

He did.

"Turn around slowly, hands on your head"

He complied

He was nattily dressed, if perhaps a bit out of style. His white hair was somewhat disheveled. His light green eyes stared into mine. His face was lined with worry and fear.

"Lieutenant Murphy." he said.

"Who the hell are you, what are you doing in Harry's apartment, where is he – what have you done with him?"

He smiled weakly. "I am .. Harry's mentor. His friend. I was trying to leave you a message. He's been missing too long.. I'm worried he might have gotten in over his head this time"

I lowered my weapon but kept it in my hand. He put his arms down.

"You, you left the words in the air before, didn't you? How do you do that? The truth. Don't tell me it's a trick"

The man just stood there. He seemed to be mulling over a decision. Finally he said something that made no sense at all.

"Do you see that skull on the desk, Lieutenant Murphy? If you would please, pick it up and hold it."

Uh… what? I blinked at him.

"Please, Lieutenant, we both want to find Harry."

I blinked again. Pick up the skull. Ooohkay. I picked up the skull. It was heavily decorated with strange markings. A piece was missing from the back. It felt real.

The strange man's voice sounded low, seductive now. "Claim it as your own, aloud."

Again. What?

"What?"

He looked heavenward for help.

"Please, Milady, just say 'I claim this skull.' "

I looked at the crazy man and repeated his words. Keep the crazy man calm, humor him. I told myself.

A shudder ran through him, he looked like a puppet who's strings have been cut. He fell to one knee, looking somehow exhausted. Then he laughed.

"It worked! I wasn't sure it would with a non-wizard" He stood up again and approached me.

"Uh huh" Maybe I should call a hospital. They could get this man into a psych ward.

"Who are you, really" I asked. He grinned, and bowed slightly.

"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, at your service, Milady. Forgive me, but Dresden forbid me to show myself to you or tell you anything about … things. You can override his orders. I serve **you** now."

I stared.

He approached me and – put his hands through the skull I was holding. Then he put his hand THROUGH mine, the one holding my sidearm. It felt chilling. I gaped at him.

His turning to smoke and flickering points of flame and disappearing into his skull was the final straw. I jumped and dropped the skull. It fell to the floor and rolled a ways before the smoke and light show started and the crazy man was standing there again.

"Please try not to drop me, milady. You must retain possession of my skull if we are to find Harry."

He looked at my face and sighed. He rolled his eyes.

"I am Hrothbert of Bainbridge, condemned to spend eternity in my skull, serving its owner, forbidden to move on" he said in a bored monotone that indicated he had said it a thousand times before.

"Usually it's not this hard" he muttered.

"I know you don't believe Dresden when he does tell you the truth about magic, Lieutenant, but he might be in danger now, we don't have time. Can we **please** get on with finding him?"

Yes. Finding Harry. That was why I came here. "Tell me what you know."

Relief flooded his face, his whole body.

"Your servant, Milady. Harry came home a week ago from your morgue. The stab wounds your pathologist has found, the ones that haven't pierced the skin, are an indication that the killer is using thaumaturgy. " He looked at me "Voodoo dolls. Harry had some hair from the last victim. We cast a spell that showed deeply black magic was used. There is no doubt the killer is a sorcerer – a wizard gone bad. He is using black magic to kill."

I hate this.

"But that case may have nothing to do with Dresden disappearing. A woman came to the office the next morning. She gave only the name 'Raquel' I doubt it was her real name. She was desperate, and wanted Dresden to find her son. It sounded like an easy case, and rent is due. He left to search for the boy and hasn't returned since. I believe she called this morning – there is a message on this machine. I cannot access it."

He put his hand through the answering machine and the table.

I really hate this.

I punched the 'play' button on the answering machine. A woman's voice started pleading.

"It's him, please help me, he knows. He knows. Oh Gd , he knows. I saw the book he has. Its real, Jesus help me, it's real. Please, Mr. Dresden, meet me at 8 tonight, behind Broadway Methodist."

"That was Raquel." said the crazy man. Ghost. I was getting a headache.

"What should I call you? I asked him "Hrothert of Bainbridge is just too much."

A rueful smile.

"You may call me anything you want, I would prefer it if you called me 'Bob', Milady, if you wish."

"Bob? So you're the mysterious Bob!"

"Your servant." he said, bowing slightly again, an easy grin on his face.

"While were at it. Drop the 'Milady' I'm Connie, if we're going to be informal with names."

"Yes m—am, uh, Lieutenant. I mean … Connie. May I point out that it is after 7 pm? Raquel is going to try to meet Dresden in just under forty minutes."

Somewhere to start, finally.

"Lets go." I said, heading toward the door.

Bob cleared his throat loudly. _Ghosts have throats?_ "I cannot leave unless you take me with you Mi-Connie" he pointed to the skull.

"You have got to be kidding me"

Green eyes, a small smile.

"Sadly, no."

I heaved a sigh and picked up the skull. Bob did the smoke thing again and disappeared into an eye socket.

That's me. Lieutenant Murphy of the Chicago Police Department – and my pet skull.

I shoved the skull under my coat and left Harry's office, locking the door behind me. I got in my car, put the skull down as far under the dashboard of the passenger side as I could get it. I set out for Broadway.


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: Some iffy language, violence  
Book or TV verse: All TV verse  
Disclaimer: Dresden Files belongs to Jim Butcher and Scifi Channel  
Warnings: Some violence, hints of gore, Butters, Polka, and angst

---

It was dark in spite of the streetlights. Deep shadows claimed the small parking lot behind the tiny church. Raquel was there alright. Dead. Her eyes stared up into the nearby building, her face frozen in utter horror. I pulled my piece and quickly looked around, checking for signs of the killer. There were none, only her footprints, and mine. 

Smoke and lights turned into Bob. He knelt down, looking at the corpse. When he reached his hand into it I screeched.

"Don't do that!"

He pulled his hand out abruptly.

"Forgive me, I was merely trying to ascertain what killed her, I meant no disrespect to her, nor did I intend to alarm you."

"You can do that?"

"Oh yes, Mi-Connie."

"For heaven's sake, Bob, would 'Murphy' be easier for you? Call me that – and please, by all means, find the cause of death if you can."

"As you wish, Murphy"

He put his hand into Raquel's body again. His hand moved about, searching. I couldn't watch. I started to check the body for a wallet or other ID. Nothing. No – wait. In the back pocket of her jeans, a driver's license. She looked much better in her driver's license photo than she did dead, but it was her. A name and an address. Now we're talking.

"Her real name is Glenda Forth." I read off the driver's license. She lives nearby. I used my cell to report the body.

Bob stood up, frowning thoughtfully, looking down at Glenda.

"She died like the young girls. Thaumaturgy. It's a bit out of pattern for your killer."

I looked at the driver's license.

"She's 49, you're right, she doesn't fit. Why did he kill her? Could the killer be her son? 'It's him…he knows' that's what she said right?"

Bob nodded and repeated the message verbatim. He even sounded a bit like her.

"_It's him, please help me, he knows. He knows. Oh Gd, he knows. I saw the book he has. Its real, Jesus help me, it's real. Please, Mr. Dresden, meet me at 8 tonight, behind Broadway Methodist."_

I could get used to this.

"Bob, you are certainly useful."

He chuckled, then turned serious.

"The mention of the book worries me. It must be a grimoire – a book of dark magic. If this young man has somehow found a real one, he will have access to some powerful spells and potions. He could do much more damage than he has so far, and the more he uses the black magic, the more twisted he will become. Black magic is a trap that can consume even the strongest most experienced people – and if this is indeed Glenda's seventeen year old son, he stands no chance. The boy is most likely damaged beyond repair. The only thing we can do is stop him from harming anyone else."

Black magic again.

"You don't believe me when I mention magic." his light green eyes searched in mine.

Bob stood up straight, his eyes never leaving me. He rolled up his sleeves slightly to expose two metal bands covered in strange symbols. They fit neatly around his wrists. He held his hands out to me palms up and spoke with quiet dignity.

"Connie, you have claimed ownership of my skull. The curse, these shackles and my own will compel me to obey you. I am your servant. I will not, cannot lie to you."

Damn.

"Come on, Robert, let's go find this kid."

We left before the police arrived.

The Forth apartment was empty. Three bedrooms, one for Glenda, one for her son, and one was apparently the world's largest walk-in closet. The son's bedroom was way too neat for a teenaged boy's. This kid was a serious Goth. Black clothes. Black candles. I was surprised he hadn't painted the walls black.

I put the skull down in the doorway.

"Come out here, Robert."

He materialized. We went through the room. I opened the doors and search through the closet and under the bed. Robert examined everything I found. There was a bathroom attached to the bedroom. I found some blood on a razor. The kid was trying to shave.

Robert touched a finger to the blood. I almost objected before I remembered he couldn't physically alter the evidence. A bit of light showed around his finger and suddenly Robert was gone and a kid stood in his place. In Robert's clothes. He said (In Robert's voice)

"The blood would seem to belong to the boy."

I gaped. Robert was standing there again, grinning. He was showing off.

"You are enjoying this way too much, show off."

He laughed.

"Forgive me. I'm not used to someone who knows nothing of wizards – or ghosts."

Uh huh.

I found a small diagram taped inside the door of the medicine cabinet. We looked at it.

"Can you do something with this, Robert?" I asked.

He reached out his hand and covered the diagram with his palm.

"All I can tell is, it's a map of some kind." he told me.

Great.

"On the reverse he has written 'Monty's Tire Warehouse' there's an address."

I rolled my eyes and muttered something about smartass wizards and ghosts.

He smirked.

"Let's go."

I set off again, with the diagram and my pet skull.

This time Robert materialized he was sitting in the passenger seat. He even appeared to have his seatbelt on. Neat trick. He looked worried.

"You should not go in there alone, Connie"

"Harry's been gone too long, we have to move quickly. Besides I'm not alone, you're with me."

He looked down, I barely heard him.

"If you are threatened or injured I can do nothing to help you." There was some old pain in that statement. I left it alone.

"Connie, please reconsider. "

"Drop it, Robert." He did. Too bad that didn't work on Harry or Kirmani. Maybe it was better if I didn't get used to this.


	3. Chapter 3

Rating: Some iffy language, violence  
Book or TV verse: All TV verse  
Disclaimer: Dresden Files belongs to Jim Butcher and Scifi Channel  
Warnings: Some violence, hints of gore, Butters, Polka, and angst

---

We pulled up at Monty's just before midnight. The full moon appeared now and again from behind clouds.

"So, midnight.. full moon.. that's bad, right?"

Robert shot me a sullen look and said nothing.

Great, I was going into the warehouse with a service pistol and a pouting ghost.

"Oh for heaven's sake, say whatever you want."

"Connie, please don't go in there alone."

"I am going in. I need your help, your knowledge. Please."

He took a deep breath and nodded.

"I will do what I can, My Lady."

Well, technically I hadn't told him not to call me THAT.

I grabbed the skull and started toward the door of the warehouse.

I tried to open the door as silently as I could. I stepped through the doorway, Robert stepped through the door. Show off.

I heard a young man's voice speaking loudly in Latin or something. It was coming from the other end of the warehouse, behind huge stacks of tires that stretched across the entire width of the building

I had my pistol out as I slowly crept between stacks of tires. There was now a light growing, crackling of energy and I heard someone cackle. Dear lord the boy was actually cackling. The smell of ozone replaced the smell of tires.

I moved in his direction. I peered around the last row of tires. The kid was dressed in all black (surprise) Lightning shifted colors and moved between him and a body. No, it was Harry, unconscious or dead. They were both inside a huge chalk circle. Candles marked the edge and a large book rested open against Harry's body, the kid was reading it.

"What is he doing?" I hissed at Robert.

He took a look and paled. Hell, he went transparent.

"Nononono, it can't be" the ghost sank to his knees, leaning against a pillar of tires. He began to rock back and forth. His eyes were wide and shock showed on his face.

"Robert, stop it, tell me what he's doing" He stopped rocking for a moment, but would not look at me.

"I know that spell" he said "he's going to steal Harry's energy." His voice trailed off low and mournful "His energy, his memories, his skills, his magic. Oh Gd not Harry please! Nonono not Harry" He was rocking again.

The boy raised a knife, ready to plunge it into Harry's throat. That was all I needed to see. I emptied my clip into the young Sorcerer. Murderer. Serial killer. Child.

I ran to Harry. I searched for a pulse. He was alive! Battered, bruised and bloody, but alive. The kid had no pulse. I'm a damn good shot.

I looked around for Robert. I could still hear a faint "nononono" coming from behind the tires.

"Robert! Get over here now!" what had gotten into him?

He staggered over. He was moving like a man who was drunk, or perhaps drugged. He would not look up, would not look at me.

"Will you check Harry out, please?"

I pulled my cell phone out and called 911, gave them my badge number and told them to get an ambulance here yesterday. "Police involved shooting" I told them.

"Harry is seriously hurt. He needs to be in a hospital. He might not make it." Robert's voice grew more frantic as he spoke. "He's going to die. My fault, my fault." He was staring at the book that was now lying open on the floor. His expression was one of horror and guilt. He was rocking again. "Destroy me, Connie" He was pleading. "Please. Crush the skull, burn the book."

"Robert! Look at me! What is wrong? Tell me." I used my best Cop Command voice.

"Its mine." he said, barely looking up. "The book. It's mine." He shuddered, stopped rocking, and finally looked at me. "You must burn it. " then he added choking back a sob "and destroy me"

A suicidal ghost? How do you talk a GHOST out of suicide?

I picked up the book, and closed it without looking in it.

"You wrote this?" I asked "A book of black magic?"

He nodded the misery coming off him was almost a physical force.

"My last grimoire. I wrote a few. All full of black magic. This one contained my most profoundly black and powerful magic. I thought they had all been burned." He was rocking again. "There is a reason I was cursed this way." And then a low whisper "I deserve it."

"Well then, Robert, I can't destroy you, can I?"

He met my gaze. I nearly reeled back. Green eyes. Old eyes. Ancient eyes with a thousand years of pain. He closed them against tears. He nodded, swallowed hard, breathed deeply and stopped rocking. He stood up and squared his shoulders.

"I am your loyal servant, My Lady" He said in a ragged voice and disappeared into his skull just as the EMS team and the police barged in.

---

I was cleared in the shooting. The knife matched the wounds in the boy's nine victims and his Mother. Butters was relieved that he didn't have to testify about the strange wounds. Everyone was, really.

Now I just have to live with having killed a child.

The strange occult book found at the scene mysteriously disappeared from evidence lockup. I burned it in my fireplace. Robert seemed satisfied with that. He was relieved, at least.

Harry was in the hospital for well over three months. He died on the table during the emergency surgery. They managed to revive him but he was in a coma for two days. He had too many broken bones to count and needed several surgeries to repair his legs and face.

I visited Harry every day I could. He was in a great deal of pain at first. I browbeat him into accepting the morphine. Men.

I told Harry a bare outline of how I had met Robert, and how we had searched for and found him. Robert should decide how much of the story he wants to tell Harry.

He told me how the Forth boy had trapped him with an arcane spell from the grimoire. Then he had called a demon; one that grew and grew. Harry had literally been stepped on. The boy had used black magic to keep Harry alive until the time was right to cast the spell that stole Harry's knowledge and skill. I wasn't about to tell Robert about that.

Robert stayed in my home while Harry was in the hospital. He really is useful. Every morning and evening he ran down my day's to-do list -- unfortunately he would also badger me about what I left unfinished. He kept track of groceries, the laundry, and watched my daughter after school.

He knows some delicious recipes, and dirty jokes, and VERY dirty jokes. The first time I sprayed beer through him as he stood in front of me telling a joke taught him to hold the punch line until after I swallow. He really can be cranky sometimes.

He is second to none as a tutor. My daughter adores him, and works harder for him than I would have believed possible. He's even persuaded her to like math. Now THAT is what I call magic.

He absolutely loves cable television. I left it on the romance channel every day when I went to work. The reformed ancient evil sorcerer cries at romantic movies. Go figure.

I will give Harry his skull back, of course. I am no fit guardian.

I have gotten used to hearing the truth, and discovered that maybe I am better off not knowing some things. Like what happened the day I blacked out that causes my nightmares. Why Harry looks so terrifying in some of them. What had he risked when he used black magic to save me? I have not asked Robert about this. He might know the answers.

Plus, I don't want to become comfortable having that kind of power over someone. I think he'll be happier with Harry. They need each other.

I just hope Harry will let Robert continue to tutor my daughter.


End file.
